


Heavens on the earth

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Námo is the new King of Arda, Post-Canon, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: I had a nightmare, said Nolofinwë ... and Fëanáro feels the fear return. After all, he has given everything for the happiness of Nolofinwë.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Heavens on the earth

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Los cielos en la tierra](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340766) by [Jadhy666 (Lumeriel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Jadhy666). 



_For you, for you_  
_I would bring down the heavens on this earth_  
_For you, for you_  
_I would even trust the devil for rebirth_

_**[ Rebirth,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mKhjUpgAcs) Poets of the Fall** _

_Fire. There’s fire everywhere. Heat licks his flesh, stifles his breath, tightens his chest… his palms sweat as he grips the reins. The armor weighs on his shoulders, on his back, and the helmet obscures his vision. Before him, the dark iron gate of hell rises, closer and closer, threatening. He digs his heels into the steed's flanks and Rochallor leaps forward with a nervous, gasping leap. His right hand reaches for the hilt of the sword and a scream emerges from his chest, tears his throat, roars over the wind and the stench of death._

Nolofinwë sat on the bed, startled. For a moment, he ran his wide eyes around the bedroom, not seeing. It took him a few minutes to begin to recognize the small details of his daily life: the tinted glass windows, the furniture with small reliefs of stars and fire flowers, the shelves with piled books and scrolls, the clothes that mixed red and blue with silver and gold. Running a hand over his face, he pushed his hair back, combing it over one shoulder, before sliding his legs to the side of the bed.

The cold slabs against his bare feet forced him to focus better. He threw back the covers and stood up. He grabbed a garment from the top of the chair closest to the bed and covering his nakedness with it, he headed for the bedroom door.

Fëanáro dropped his arm once more. The hammer forced the piece of metal to sag, almost dissolving under the weight of the blacksmith's blows. He continued working for a few more seconds before feeling the weight of his gaze on his back, on the nape of his neck, like an icy caress between his shoulder blades. He lowered the arm he was raising to hammer and half turned.

Leaning against the jamb, arms crossed in front of his chest to close his red and gold shirt, Nolofinwë looked like a teenager on his wedding night. His inky hair descended in thick curls to his thighs, highlighting white flesh. There were pink marks on those thighs, on the arched throat so that the head rested on the wood. His eyes, like blue diamonds, had a curious brilliance that his long lashes set like jewels.

“What happen?” asked Fëanáro in a low, slightly hoarse voice.

Nolofinwë did not respond, motionless, his eyes fixed on his half-brother's face.

Fëanáro put down the tools and turned fully around as he stripped off his apron. With silent steps, he approached the elf on the threshold and stopped only when he could feel the freshness on his skin that always emanated from the other's body.

"What is it, _elenya_?" He asked again, in a lower voice, his eyes of fiery silver running over Nolofinwë's face.

Instead of replying, his younger brother uncrossed his arms and raising both hands, brushed Fëanáro's chin with the tips of his fingers. Slowly, he traced the curve of his jaw to his earlobes adorned with ruby earrings.

Fëanáro flinched as Nolofinwë's fingers drew his ears - from lobe to tip and then back. He parted his mouth when his fingers brushed his cheekbones and descended to the corners of his mouth. Nolofinwë's fingers met at the center of his lips, tickling… Fëanáro parted his lips further and reached out to touch the fingers that caressed him.

Nolofinwë's eyelids fell slowly as Fëanáro's tongue ran over his fingers. His teeth brushed his fingertips and his lips grasped before sucking. Fëanáro's hands encircled his wrists and the next second, their mouths met with a longing that never ceased.

Nolofinwë gasped into his half-brother's mouth and clung to his body. He twisted hisr arms to free himself and clasped his hands at the back of Fëanáro's neck, in his half-braided hair.

Fëanáro slipped his hands under Nolofinwë’s shirt – _Fëanáro’s shirt_ \- running over the body he knew by heart. He explored the smooth belly, drew the navel adorned with a dark ruby, descended to the half-erect sex ...

"I had a nightmare," Nolofinwë confessed suddenly, throwing his head back, fixing his wide eyes on the ceiling of the forge.

Fëanáro gasped silently, his lips parted ready to chase the other's mouth. With a low growl, he lowered himself to the bare throat that was offered to him and ran his mouth open, his hands dotting circles on his lover's hips.

"I dreamed…" Nolofinwë licked his lips. “I dreamed that fire devoured the world ... a world in which I was king and you ... you were not.”

Fëanáro straightened to claim his mouth. He dug his hands into his hair and forced his head down. He kissed him desperately, hungry, with an anxiety of a thousand lives and a thousand worlds.

"Nonsense," he whispered into his mouth. “Where would I be if not by your side, _elenya_?”

Nolofinwë didn't answer, stunned by the pressure of his hips rotating against his pelvis, by the unbearable friction in his already hard sex.

Fëanáro returned to kiss him and then down his neck. Taking a step back, he turned him over on his heels as he stripped off his shirt. The garment was tossed to the ground without interest and Fëanáro reached up to brush the thick hair away from him, arranging it over one shoulder. He kissed the nape bent forward. He licked the silver and black lines that formed wings and eyes on shoulders and spine. He knelt behind him and, covering the firm buttocks with both hands, gently spread them open.

Nolofinwë's moan shook the air. He dug his nails into the wood of the jamb, gasping helplessly. Fëanáro's tongue gave no respite: he traced his sphincter, pushed into his dark ring, in and out, licking slow circles and ever deeper thrusts.

Nolofinwë lost track of time to when a finger crept inside him, pushing, bending slightly, opening him. He moaned louder, his voice cracking.

"Need… you…" he gasped, clinging to the wall until his hands ached.

Fëanáro obeyed. Backing away, he tugged on his half-brother’s hips to force him to collapse gently into his arms. He held him as he led him to lie on his back on the ground and moved to cover him with his body.

He spread Nolofinwë's legs almost delicately and stood between them. Without guiding it, his stiff cock brushed Nolofinwë’s wet entrance and he rammed his hips, pressing his hot head into the throbbing hole. Nolofinwë threw his head back, modulating a silent groan before the pain unleashed a groan that was music in Fëanáro's ears. He didn't stop until he filled him, until his bodies pressed together as one.

"I'm here, Nolvo," Fëanáro gasped as he began to stir inside him. “I'm with you. Forever. Tell me… tell me if this seems real, my love.”

Nolofinwë nodded, stunned by the mixture of pain and pleasure, digging his nails into Fëanáro's shoulders and back, digging his heels into his kidneys to drive him deeper.

"Say it," the older commanded against his mouth. “Say if you feel me inside you ... real ... alive ... yours.”

"I… I feel you…" Nolofinwë gasped with effort, the thrusts lifting his hips off the ground, sweat covering his skin little by little.

"This is the truth, my love," Fëanáro whispered, increasing the strength of his thrusts. “This is the only truth. You and me. Forever.”

"Fo-for… forever, Fëanáro," Nolofinwë agreed and his voice was lost in the long moan with which he reached orgasm.

Fëanáro held him tightly in his arms, clenching his teeth as the insides of his half-brother pulsed around his cock. Only when Nolofinwë relaxed into his embrace did he move slowly, fucking him softly to achieve his own release. Eyes closed, Nolofinwë accompanied his climax with soft murmurs of protest and delight.

Fëanáro deposited Nolofinwë on the bed. Carefully, with the tenderness of a mother, he brushed the damp hair away from his face and ran his fingers across his cheekbone in a restrained caress. He leaned over him and kissed him on the lips, lightly. He got off the bed and walked to the full-length mirror that occupied the wall in front of them. He still turned to check that his brother was sleeping, over his shoulder, before pressing an open hand to the cold surface.

He stepped through the glass like water and his bare feet brushed noiselessly against the black marble of the corridor on the other side. He walked down the hall without stopping until he came to a room dimly lit by dim lamps. The gray walls were covered in tapestries of dull, faded colors, and a sticky mist hung just over a foot above the ground.

Fëanáro ignored the colorless silhouettes that crossed his path. His gaze fell on the empty throne: of dark stone, covered by a cloak of an indefinite color, the huge seat seemed abandoned. The elf's gaze lingered for only a second on the figure face down in front of the throne: with its hands tied behind its back and its head bent by a heavy chain, its legs severed at the ankles constantly bled, putting the only note of color in the gloomy landscape.

"Son of Míriel."

Fëanáro spun around to face whoever named him.

Námo advanced through the mist, silhouettes clinging to his body with open mouths in mute screams. A thick veil covered the upper part of his face, bare only his chin and black-lipped mouth.

"What brings you to my abode?" The Vala asked.

"You promised he wouldn't remember anything," Fëanáro accused him firmly. “You promised that he wouldn't remember the pain, the fear ... the betrayal. You promised me that he would be happy ... that this time he would be happy.”

Námo stopped halfway to the throne.

"Oh, the son of Indis has begun to remember. Again. Do you want me to go back to...?”

“No!” Fëanáro roared. “I gave you the _silmarils_ in exchange for him, for his happiness… with me. I don't want him to suffer again. No I can… we can't repeat this over and over. Every time he remembers.”

Námo almost sighed.

"You know it is inevitable that, if he remembers, he will try to fix everything, save you from your sins."

Fëanáro narrowed his eyes.

"Find a way to fix it. Without hurting him.”

"As you wish, son of Míriel."

The elf barely heard his answer, already walking away from the room.

Fëanáro returned to the bedroom, passing through the mirror. He stripped off his clothes and climbed onto the bed. He settled behind Nolofinwë and hugging him tightly, buried his face in his hair.

"I'm with you, elenya him," he whispered. “I'm going to take care of you this time.”

And even as he said it, Fëanáro knew that it was inevitable that Nolofinwë would remember. Once again.

Outside, the stench of decomposing bodies and the howl of the wind flooded the dark realm of Mandos, Only Lord of Arda.


End file.
